Yukiko Motoya - The Lonesome Bodybuilder - Stories

I spent a long time wandering around the town, and ascertained that there wasn’t a single person there. At the gas station, I found the words OUR TOWN sloppily spray-painted on a wall. Our town. I remembered that once, many years ago, I’d asked Santa Claus for a present: to wake up and have the whole world to myself.

I gathered as much food and fuel as I could carry, and headed back to the cabin with the dogs.

The following day, I sat and worked in the attic with the magnifying glass and tweezers, and went walking with the dogs over the snowy slopes when I needed a break. There was no sign of anyone approaching the cabin. I spent the next day the same way, and again the day after that. Watching the white dogs hunt, swimming gracefully under the ice, I could be engrossed for hours. When I ran out of food, I went down to the town and procured what I wanted from the unattended shops. I slowly became dingy and faded, but the dogs stayed as white as fresh snow.

One day, while I was watching them play in the snow from the attic window, I took the hunting rifle from the cupboard and let off three shots in their direction. The dogs stiffened in a way I’d never seen them do before, looked toward me, and then scattered into the mountain as though to meld into the glistening snow. The day hinted at the arrival of spring.

I leaned out the window and yelled, “Sorry!” at the top of my voice. “I won’t do that again! Come home!”

That night, as the snow fell silently, I slept standing by the windowsill huddled with the dogs, who had come back. As I reveled in the sensation of being buried in their warm flesh, I thought, I’ll be leaving this place tomorrow.

Her husband ran lightly ahead of her, almost as if he were pacesetting a race. He was dressed in his favorite team’s soccer jersey and knee-length shorts. His legs were sheathed down to the ankles in the compression tights they’d bought together at the sporting goods store, but from the gap between them and his sneakers, two or three strands of dry straw were poking out. The asphalt surface of the wide running track in the park was littered with sawdust-like material in his wake, but Tomoko skillfully avoided it as she tuned in to what he was saying.

“Good, nice and tall now. Try not to lift your feet—it’s better to almost brush them forward just barely over the ground. You’ll get less tired that way. Keep your elbows tucked in to your body. And don’t stick your belly out.”

“Okay,” Tomoko said, wondering what to focus on first. It was nice of him to be so excited about teaching her to run, but giving her all those instructions at the same time was actually counterproductive. Reminding herself to keep a straight face, she let her husband’s explanations wash over her, and moved her attention to the leaves on the trees stretching overhead. They were like an endless carpet in the hallway of some elegant mansion. Green. Yellow. Red. Evidently the trees all changed color at different times. It felt luxurious to be holding all three colors in her field of vision at once.

“Look how pretty it is,” she said.

He looked up. “You’re right,” he said. “Aren’t you glad we came?”

“Yeah. Thanks for getting me out here.”

“Studies have proved that performance suffers when you don’t take breaks.”

Tomoko copied her husband, who was swinging his arms rhythmically, and looked at the pale, skinny, sticklike arms that peeked out of her running clothes. She needed to exercise more, it was true. She’d been putting in such long hours working that her fitness had suffered. Particularly her leg muscles. Now that she was out running, she couldn’t ignore it. It was like having to drag along bloodless pieces of doweling.

“The leg muscles are one of the most prone to losing mass, of course. You should be walking daily, whether you go out for a stroll or even just for shopping.” He sounded like a teacher lecturing a student.

Yes, Tomoko thought; that was definitely true. But what could her husband really know? Running into the cold wind, she thought back to the exhilaration of being a student and putting snow against her eyelids to keep herself awake while she studied for exams. Squinting into the clear autumn sunlight, she gazed at the figure of her husband running just ahead of her. How could he possibly know what it was like, when he didn’t have a single muscle on him?

She saw a couple approaching, dressed in understated matching duffle coats and walking their dog. “Hey, look. Those two are actually old enough to be grandparents. So adorable,” she said, in a low, affectionate voice.

Her husband slowed his pace. “Very elegant,” he said happily.

Just like we want to be when we’re older, right? Tomoko thought, but she didn’t say it aloud, because she was sure her husband was thinking just the same thing.

Six months since they’d gotten married, she was only more certain that the path to happiness was laid out ahead of them. From where did she get this satisfying feeling that they had avoided the common pitfalls of choosing a partner? Theirs was a marriage that hadn’t necessarily been welcomed by their loved ones, but now she felt that the wild birds were twittering to congratulate them on having made the right choice.

As she passed the old couple on the path, Tomoko tried to imprint their image into her mind. She and her husband would no doubt become like them. In the weekday park, everything shone brightly and was peaceful. The sunlight spilling through the trees. The fountains. Grass. And her straw husband. She sighed with happiness at her blessed life.

They spent the next fifteen minutes doing a lap around the spacious park, slow enough to avoid putting any strain on their hearts. Within the park’s extensive grounds, everyone was enjoying themselves. A couple on a date, peering into a flower bed. Families relaxing on the grass. A student rehearsing lines on a bench, a cameraman shooting a scene as he scattered a pile of fallen leaves around a girl…

They were just past the park’s dog run. Her husband pointed to a patch of grass and said, “Let’s get to there and then take a breather.”

Tomoko was already fast-walking more than running. “Okay,” she said, summoning the remains of her willpower.

“I’ll grab us something to drink. Go do some stretching.”

Tomoko watched him sprint off toward some vending machines, and made for the grassy area, dead leaves crunching underfoot. A deserted, slightly balding patch of ground—that was the spot. When she sat down and arched her back as far as she could, her gaze met a totally cloudless sky. She closed her eyes against the brightness, and became aware of the sensation of her blood coursing through her. Her body had been tense from pressure at work, but it felt looser now thanks to the run.

By the time her breathing had settled, her husband came into sight from between the trees. He seemed to have gone a long way to find a vending machine. Unaware that he was being watched, he was walking slowly toward the patch of grass, clutching a plastic bottle.

From that distance, his jerky movements stood out a little, but Tomoko didn’t mind. Her husband was made of straw—yes, that straw, stalks of dried rice or wheat, plant matter used as fodder for farm animals, or for their bedding—tied into bundles and rolled into a human shape.

Tomoko had married him of her own free will. Some of her friends had advised her to reconsider, but most people didn’t even seem to notice that he was straw. What Tomoko had liked about him was that, as straw, he was kinder and more positive than anyone she knew. Of course, at the start, there’d been days when she’d barely managed to swallow food, sick with worry that they were too different, that she’d rushed into things. But now she no longer faltered in her conviction that her instinct hadn’t led her astray.